


No Reason

by BookwormQueen27



Category: Beetlejuice - All Media Types, Beetlejuice - Perfect/Brown & King
Genre: Beetlejuice Switch places, Delia's Beetlejuice, Evil!Delia, everyone else stays the same
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-24
Updated: 2020-06-20
Packaged: 2021-03-01 18:35:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,733
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23821666
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BookwormQueen27/pseuds/BookwormQueen27
Summary: “40,000, that must be a new record for you,” Otho smirked as he saw dread fill Delia’s eyes and watched as all the ends of her hair turned pitch black, “We can no longer pardon you and the mistakes you continuously make,”It's Beetlejuice! But not the kind we all know. Delia was a Demon, banished after she started something huge. Lydia and Laurence were siblings, coping with the death of their mother. Barbara and Adam are confused middle class ghost. And Charles over here, he just wants a break.
Relationships: Adam Maitland/Barbara Maitland, Beetlejuice & Charles Deetz & Delia Deetz & Lydia Deetz & Adam Maitland & Barbara Maitland, Beetlejuice & Delia Deetz, Delia Deetz & Lydia Deetz
Comments: 8
Kudos: 33





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So, I own no rights to Beetlejuice. I also don't know who made the original drawing that inspired this, so if do know, please tell me so I can credit them! I hope you enjoy! Please kudos and comment anything you want to see, anything you like, and any mistakes that you find. Thanks a ton!

Delia sat in Hell’s lobby, her head hung low for what felt, and probably was, the hundredth time in the past century. Oh, and how the time seemed to stop down in the Netherworld. The red-haired demon could have almost laughed at everything down around her, had it not been for the situation she was now in.

The smell around her, filled with mildew and rotting flesh, was the same as the last time she had left. The sky was still the same eerie mix of green and red, the colors staining the poor souls forced to work for years. The ground was still covered with mold and stained brown with dried blood from the newly dead. And the people in the lobby around her, they were all basically the same. Sure, like thirty or so were gone, the tribe man no longer there, with his shrunken head. But, the magician’s assistant, chopped in half by her drunken co-star, she was still reading the same damned (Ha!) magazine. 

But, due to the cold grips of feel holding Delia’s non beating heart, she couldn’t laugh. She couldn’t smile. She couldn’t move. All she could do was stare at the papers on her lap, the ancient yellow paper glaring back at her. At the angry words she could hardly make out. She had known she had fucked up, but from the scare words she could read, this was so much worse than she had thought. 

“Aye, hermana, are you gonna sign ‘dose papers or not?” A thick accent pulled the demon from her trance, her wide eyes landing on the green skinned receptionist. The dead woman smiled back at Delia, her perfect teeth mocking the scared woman. “You hear me?” 

“Yeah, I heard you Tina,” Delia’s eyes fell back into her lap, looking at her chipped nails. She remembered when the receptionist first died, the Miss Argentina sash the only thing spared from the blood that had been dripping down her slit wrist. The panic in the former pageant star’s eyes when she awoke in the Netherworld. 

It had taken weeks to learn the woman’s story. Forced onto the stage. Forced to be perfect. Horrible life for someone with a fire like her’s. By the time she started talking to the other ghost and demons, they'd already given her a nickname, Tina, and it stuck. So now, hundreds of Netherworld years later, she is still Forever and Always, Tina from Argentina. 

“Delia,” Tina’s hands were now waving in front of the demon’s face, breaking her from her thoughts, “Ello?” 

“I’m here,” Delia replied, trying to force a smile at the sight of her worried friend. “Whatca want?” 

“For one, your papers,” A green hand pulled away the yellow papers, the pageant star tisking slightly at the lack of information filled in, “They’re already waiting, mi amiga, you know the door,” Her words were quiet, trying to comfort her friend. 

For all the years trapped in Hell, Tina had gotten used to seeing the panic on freshly dead people’s faces. She knew how to comfort them, how to push away their fears. But, she had never been able to truly calm down Delia. She knew when the demon felt things, her wild hair changing colors at the tips. Red, like crimson, meant rage, quite common. Blue was sad, green was envy if dark, disgusted if light green. And black, black was fear. A color that seemed to stain the tips of the demon’s hair more often than not. 

Tina wanted to help her friend, but she knew she could not. Not with the amount of time she had. Death, in all its forms, was always on time. With one last sigh, she rose from her squatting position, brushed her pinkish-red hair from her eyes, then placed a tiny smile on her lips. 

“Time to go, tigre,” She stepped away from the fearful demon, “Goodluck,” With that, she turned back to the desk, her heels echoing on the moldy ground as she moved. 

Alone in the chair, Delia began to rise, her mind trying to find an excuse for what she did this time. I was lonely and wanted something to do didn’t seem like the thing to tell the scariest fucking group of dead people ever. 

Delia began down the hall, regretting the fact she had heels on as they seemed so loud to her. Every step she took echoed around her. They had to hear her coming. Of course they did. She was so freaking loud that Delia would bet that the living could hear her heels. Shut it! Her mind screamed through all of her thoughts. She had to calm down, or else this would be worse than it already would be. 

She turned the last corner, her mind already counting the doors as she passed them. One, don’t enter that as that’s the exorcism room. Two, a room to torture Naxis when the head folks were bored. Three, the dark wooden door, heavier than a two ton truck. Behind it an unknown fate. 

She knocked three times. The sound echoed like everything else in this damned place. And then it opened. 

Inside of the third door was a large table, eight demons placed on both sides, dressed in suits and dresses that cost more than life itself. At the head of the table sat the Head Demon, of course. 

“Delia, come in,” The Head Demon smiled, his yellow teeth flashing in the fluorescent hell. His hand gestured to the empty seat, opposite to him, “Sit, dear, we saved a spot for you,” His smile managed to grow even wider.

“Thank you, Otho,” Delia forced out as she moved to the leather chair. 

Otho, the Head Demon of the Netherworld, practically raised the red-haired demon. Delia, who was born dead, was quickly deemed too powerful to be kept in the hands of some simple, middle class, ghost. Instead, she was quickly handed over to Otho. 

Otho never was one for children. He removed the words ‘mother’ and ‘father’ from the young demon’s dictionary early on, only allowing the name Otho to be spoken to him, Guru Otho during his lessons. 

As he was the Head Demon, he was strict on the girl, teaching her harshly and for long hours if needed. They would work tirelessly to get everything perfect, bur Delia never could do it. She would spend hours in tears, trying to ignore the screaming and the pain inflicted by-

“So, I assume you know why you are here, Delia,” Another demon asked, Juno was her name, a cigarette hung loosely out of the corner of her lips. Delia nodded, trying to focus on breathing. 

“And you understand,” Delia took another shaky breath, “why it was wrong?” 

The red-head’s head snapped up, “It wasn’t my fault!” Damn it! Her mouth moved faster than her mind, “I didn’t know that talking to that one French dude would lead to this, honest!” She jumped up from her seat, her eyes wide as she continued to ramble on, “I thought he would drunkenly joke with his friends, how was I supposed to know that this would lead to a revolution?” 

“Delia,” Someone tried to cut into what she was saying.

“No!” She hissed, the tips of her hair turning all sorts of colors, “How was I supposed to know that the monarchy in France was so weak?” 

“And that’s another thing,” Otho’s harsh voice cut in, his black eyes staring coldly at the standing demon, “Not only did you start the French Revolution-”

“All the countries are doing it-”

“But you managed to cause all of the royalties to lose their heads. Do you know how much work that is on our end-”

“I’m sorry-”

“Shut it!” Otho’s face was bright with anger, his words so loud and hard that it made Delia flinch and sit back down in her chair, “You’ve been given so many chances, have you not?” He paused, looking at the red-haired woman, “Answer me,”

Delia weakly nodded, her eyes cast down at her chipped nails, “I have,” She wondered when the last time she cut them was. 

“Then you know why we can’t let you go with a simple ‘slap on the wrist’ this time?” His voice got sweeter, moving her into a false sense of comfort. 

“Delia,” A demon, Maxie, cut in, making her raise her eyes to look at him, “You’ve been charged for the deaths taken at this point in the French Revolution and for the whole war. That’s going to be around 40,000 people on you, for this time alone,” 

“But, by the end, this dude, Hugo Victor or whatever, is going to write some super sad, crappy book,” She tried to joke, only earning glares. 

“40,000, that must be a new record for you,” Otho smirked as he saw dread fill Delia’s eyes and watched as all the ends of her hair turned pitch black, “We can no longer pardon you and the mistakes you continuously make,” He rose from his seat, his pale hands moving to the moldy business table. “The council and I have been talking,” He moved towards her, his fingers touching over the top of every chair as he moved. 

Dread filled Delia’s stomach as he came closer to her, “What did you decide,” Her voice was so quiet, that she could hardly hear herself. 

“We can’t have you making anymore mistakes, now can we,” He was now fully behind the red-haired demon, the smell of death and decay rolling off of him in waves. She turned to look into his pitch black eyes, only to stop, her eyes freezing on his black nails for some reason. 

“We have chosen to send you to the living world,” Someone behind her stated, their voice bored. 

Otho’s hand moved down to caress Delia’s face, the rough palm cold against her already frozen flesh, “Yes, you can go back up to the world you just ruined,” In a flash, his hand moved to grab her chin, holding it tightly between the fingers, “But no one will be able to see you,” A Cheshire smile grew on his face at his own words. He moved his face lower, letting his chapped lips touch the shell of her ear, “You’ll be invisible,” 

At that moment, Delia broke from whatever trance the Head Demon had put her under and pushed him away. She jumped out of the rotting leather chair she had been sitting on, and began to back up to the heavy door behind her. This couldn’t be happening. She knew she had to get out of the Netherworld, out of literally Hell, before they thought of some other way to punish her. 

Her wild eyes scanned the crowd in front of her. Most of the demons looked confused, another part tried, but Otho, he looked pleased with himself. The smile that stretched from cheek to cheek, the gleam in his eyes. He was proud of this punishment, that much was clear. 

In a flash, she forced the heavy door open, her shoulder protesting as she threw herself against it. Still, the door opened, and she took off, running back to the lobby. This is where the doors to the living world are most common. Behind her, she heard Otho say “Leave her” and she didn’t want to think that she had fallen for his trap.  
Her heels cracked as she moved, echoing around her like always, her ankles wearing thin, blisters forming, yet she ignored them. The few souls she passed stared at her oddly, confused by the wild haired, weirdly dressed demon running like there was no tomorrow. 

Finally, Delia made it out into the Lobby of Hell, taking a labored break as her brown eyes looked for an open door. She noticed one, not yet opened on the side, the chalk against the bricks a welcomed sight. She quickly moved over to it, and raised her shaking fist to the stone, feeling the cold through her own frozen flesh. 

One knock, the sound echoed around the room, drawing the first few eyes. 

Knock Two, Tina rose from her seat at the desk, confused at the sight of her friend once again. 

“Delia?” She asked, her accent calming the demon ever so slightly. “Are you okay?” 

Third Knock, the door opened in a cloud of mist, the sight beautiful to the eyes of the red-haired demon. 

“No,” She turned around to look at Miss Argentina, a soft smile on her lips, before falling through the door.  
Delia loved the feeling of that cold breeze as she fell back to the living world. She enjoyed the smells that started coming to focus. The cold feeling of water when your feet hit the ground. She just loved that she was free at last, away from the terrors of the Netherworld. 

Even if she was going to be trapped alone in 1789 France.


	2. Invisible

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Maitlands will be in the next chapters, I just wanted to introduce the Deetz's first. Please comment if you want to see something, like something, see a mistake, or random crap if you want. Thanks a TON!

“In times like these, we have no words,” The priest looked looked over the crowd of black, his face pale, “We have only each other,” He shut his Bible and placed it under his arm, “Today we come together to mourn the passing of Emily Deetz,” His eyes moved down to the wooden casket that sat in front of him

“Devoted wife of Charles,” He looked at the grieving man, his face pale and worn, his chin covered in stubble. He pitied the man who had loved his wife so much, only to lose her after so many years. To lose his wife to cancer, a slow painful death that stretched over months and years. 

“Beloved mother to Lydia and Laurence,” He now looked at the two teenagers hiding in the back. Lydia’s face was covered with a black veil, allowing no one to see how she was doing. On her left side, Laurence stood, his bright green hair being the only color in a crowd of black. The teen had streams of black tears running down his face from makeup and his own chin was covered in his own stubs. 

“Scripture tells us, ‘Sorrow not, for we do not walk alone.’” The priest finished off the service. He always hated when it was someone young, a woman barely in her forties, and it didn’t help that the children were still young. He wished he could tell them more, help the family out, but he didn’t know how to, except prayers and offerings in their names.

Lydia stood in the back, cold tears dripping down her chin. She hated this. All of the mourners stated that they loved her mother. ‘Oh, Emily was such an amazing person’, which she was, or ‘She was always a great student’, that crap that other mourners say at a funeral. It was all lies. She knew that. They knew that. Hell, even Dead Mom knew that. 

When Dead Mom was alive, when Emily was well, she always joked about how most people hated her. How, when she was a teenager, she lived in a small town. The people were old Baby Boomers who felt threatened by her short hair, her dark clothing, by the amount of earrings in her ear. Teachers always placed her in the front of the class to keep an eye on her, even if she was the quiet, bright mind. 

She told Lydia and Laurence about the party they had thrown when she had left the town, even her own parents were glad to have her out of the house. She told them about how she had sent them a letter a few years ago, basically telling them to fuck off. She was wild like that, Dead Mom was. But now, she was gone. 

Lydia hated watching her mom’s short hair disappear, watching her flesh turn snow white. She cursed all the author’s that dared to make death this pretty sight. It wasn’t. No, it’s gruesome, horrible. She wished she didn’t have to see it. But, she did. And now she doesn’t have her mom. 

Laurence sensed his sister’s distress and grabbed her hand, his big palm taking her cold, small one easily. He saw behind the black veil and blond hair Lydia had put up to hide her face, that she was hurting. But, he was hurting too. 

His face, and sleeve, was covered in cried off mascara, something his mother had told him to try. She never called him a ‘pansy’ or ‘pussy’ for liking makeup. No, the moment she noticed that he had an interest in it, she had taken him to the closest store that sold quality makeup and found his skin tone and preferred eye palette. 

Damn, he missed her, he missed his mom. He had known she was going to die soon, when they learned about the cancer, but never this soon. She’d never see Lydia or him get their license, or see them off to prom. She’d never be there to hear him and Lydia come out, or as they graduated high school. She’d never see any of that, cause she was just gone. She was dead. 

Somewhere behind him, he heard his dad call them to the car. He pulled Lydia by the arm to the Mercedes, hating how she didn’t try to pull away from him. She just allowed herself to be dragged. 

As he got in the back seat, he realized how hard this must be for his dad. Charles Deetz was not a man to be messed with, he would protect what he loved and cared for with his whole being. But, the one time he was needed most, the one time someone was in true danger, he couldn’t help. His dad had to watch as his wife withered away, helplessly. And now he had to take care of two teenagers. He had to pity the man, but he couldn’t for some reason. 

As they pulled out of the cemetery, the black car oddly fitting for the mood, the Deetz’s just sat in the car in silence. None of the sports his dad tried to listen to, no rock music from his mom, no show tunes from the teens. Just quiet. And he hated it. 

They quickly made it back to their house, the tiny building just a reminder of what they had lost. The tiny stage by the mailbox from when their mom acted out Hamlet on her own. The flowers that sat dead in the box from mom’s lack of a green thumb. The smiley face sprayed painted on the wall, under the window, from the time she tried to convince dad that someone vandalized the house. It was funny until dad called the police and mom had to admit it was all her. She was everywhere. 

The house was cold, dark, and silent as they entered, the kitchen island covered in casseroles and other foods people donated out of ‘the goodness of their heart’, and all that bullshit. Just another lie that people were trying to tell. 

Charles threw the keys into the bowl by the door, the sound of glass against metal deafening in the already suffocating silence. “You can warm up something if you’re hungry,” The man growled, before swiftly moving down the hall and into his office. The sound of a lock clicking as heard then nothing. 

Lydia shook her head, her face still covered, then moved down the hall, to the room that used to be their parent’s bedroom. She moved quickly, and it took Laurence moving at almost a light jog to reach her. 

As he made it into the room, he felt his heart almost stop. The room looked the same, like all it was before mom had died. The bed was still unmade, the blankets thrown on in haste. There was an old mug of coffee, the bottom stained with the black grounds and the lip of the mug covered in cherry lipstick, a shade his mom had loved so much. 

He took a deep breath before going into the master bathroom, where Lydia had already entered. 

“Lydia, you need to…” His words died in his mouth as he noticed the blond locks of hair on the floor. His eyes snapped to look at his sister’s face, her cheeks crimson from the amount of tears she had cried. Her blond hair was now just under her chin, the edges rough and uneven. 

“What?” Her voice was quiet, so weak, so unlike Lydia, “What do you need me to do?” She brought her hand to her blond locks, as if scared at how he would react.   
Laurence was speechless, he had always known his sister to have loved her long hair. She was always ready to try a new style, a new idea. Hell, she once tried to sculpt it into a monster’s face, only to realize that that’s not how hairspray works. So he did the only thing he could do, “Do you want me to help even it out?” 

Lydia’s eyes grew wide at his words, “What?”

“Your hair, it’s cut unevenly, you want me to fix it?” He asked, moving to touch the roughly cut strands. 

“No,” She quickly told him, pulling herself away. Laurence raised his hands as a sign of peace, allowing her to calm down a bit more. She took a breath with him, then started again, “No, Dead Mom’s hair was always roughly cut,” She paused, trying to stop the tears that were rolling down her face, “But could you help me dye it?” She pulled out a dye from the cabinet behind her. 

Before Emily died, she was optimistic with her chances. They were quite high, so they all had figured she would be better, but they were wrong. But, she had joked, saying that since she lost all her hair to the chemotherapy, the moment she could, she’d re-dye her hair. She had even bought a single box of dye, ready to be back to normal as soon as possible. But, luck had not been on her side. And now they had a single box of pitch black hair dye. 

Everything in Laurance wanted to say no to her wishes, but he wanted to see his sister happy. And this would help. Plus, if you dye your hair alone for the first time, it’s bound to make a mess and not work as well as it should. 

“Fine, but let me fix your bangs, they’re slanted and that’s not okay,” He jokes, taking the sissours from Lydia’s hand. 

And, that’s how it went for months after. Charles locked himself in his study, trying to work through the grief. He was only seen out to get food or use the restroom. He asked Laurence to bring him his clothes from his old bedroom, unwilling to reenter the room he had once shared with Emily. He kept moving forward, trying to work through everything, forget. And that’s what he did. 

Lydia tried to hold on to anything she could that was involved with her Dead Mom. She began to make her own clothing and mourning dresses, like her mom would do when she was a teenager. She protected all the traditions they had. She tried to follow in her mother’s footsteps, reading all of Shakesphere’s plays and memorizing almost all of Edgar Allen Poe’s poems. She wanted to stay and remember her dead mom for forever. 

Laurence was just trying to keep his family together. His dad was moving ahead faster and farther than he should, trying to forget about all the pain he was feeling. On the other hand, Lydia was unwilling to move, holding to the past and what they had lost. And Laurence was just there, trying to help, but unable.

He laid on his bed months after the funeral, his head hurting from another fight he had to break up between Lydia and his dad. He just wanted things to be normal, but also to acknowledge what they had lost. 

“Hey mom,” He whispered into the nothingness, part of him wishing for something to happen. Still nothing. He cursed himself for thinking that talking would cause a dead woman to appear. 

It was late anyway, he thought, turning to look at his clock that had 11 in big bold numbers. He had to sleep. 

Laurence had his eyes shut for only 5 minutes, when a loud knocking sound echoed around the room, followed by a rough ‘Family meeting in the living room’ by his dad. 

With yawn, he rose, and quickly made his way to the living room, noting his sister looked just as tired as he felt. 

“What is it?” Lydia coldly asked from the couch, her arms around her knees. 

“I’ve decided that we need a change of scenery-”

“-And?” 

“We’re moving, Lydia,” Charle harshly said, turning to Lydia. 

“No! We can’t move!” Lydia yelled, tears already falling down her face. 

“Dad-” Laurence tried to cut in. 

“You must have all your things packed by Wednesday,” He quickly rose to his feet, “I wish you all a goodnight,” With that, he fled the room, running away from feelings like always. 

“Lydia-” Laurence turned to his sister, who was in tears. 

“No, he can’t make us move,” She cried out, her voice higher than normal, “This is Dead Mom’s home, she won’t be in the new house,” She buried her head into her knees. 

“Lydia, we have to accept she’s gone, I’m sorry, but she is,” He moved to his sister, wrapping his arm around her, “We need to move on-”

“I have a room to pack!” She shot up from the couch as he spoke, not willing to listen to another word he was going to say. 

So, now Laurence sat alone in the living room, not willing to accept the fact they were going to leave the only home he knew. He just hoped that this wouldn’t backfire on his dad and that Lydia won’t be rash. 

He slowly got off the couch, no longer tired. After all, he had a room to pack.


	3. Ready, Set

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is before the last chapter, but I went kinda with the musical's timeline. Thanks a Ton!

Barbara sat at the pottery wheel, enjoying the silence that hung over her as she worked on the clay. She loved making a lump of basically nothing into a piece of art to display around the house. She was currently making a plate, hoping to place it in the center of the table. 

She slowly smoothed out the surface, satisfied with how it looked. Yes, with a little paint, it would fit perfectly in their house. Her hands found the wire on the side, the cold metal clinging to the moisture on her fingers. In a quick motion, she brought it down to the wheel and sliced the plate clean from it. 

This was the true way to live life. None of that garbage that older generations tried to spew and push them into. No, Barbara knew that Adam and her were happy. They didn’t have to worry about having money to raise a kid. They didn’t have to worry about the bills that came with children. Nor the part where you have to raise them for 18 years, teaching them how to ride their bike or help them on history papers. She’ll never have to dress up a little girl or help a boy with his crush. She’d never-

“Hey, Barbara!” Adam’s voice broke through her thoughts, “I’m home,” She heard him wipe off his shoes before walking down the hall. She grinned as he gracefully appeared around the corner, his smile wide and a white ‘Thank You’ bag in one of his hands. 

Adam moved over to his wife quickly, taking in the fresh art in her hands. Noticing this, she raised the plate so he could see it better. 

“I was thinking it would go well on the table,” She started, looking into his green eyes.

“That would look nice, maybe you could paint it a-”

“Golden color, already had that planned,” She finished, hugging him, but still being mindful of her dirty hands. 

“Exactly!” He returned the hug, before placing a soft kiss on her forehead, “And it’ll look lovely, the envy of the town,” He smiled, pushing back Barbara’s golden curls behind her ear, “Just like it’s creator,”

“Adam,” She blushed, burying her head into his shoulder, “You flirt,” She mumbled.

“Only for you,” The man blushed as well, before letting go of his wife, “Now, you should probably let the clay sit and dry,”

“Of course, I wouldn't want to ruin that ol’ oven,” She pressed a quick kiss on Adam’s nose before turning to go into the kitchen, her green dress swishing with each step. 

Adam had always known he was lucky, and now, as he stared at his love, he knew nothing would be better than the life they had. They had enough money to be happy, a nice house, and time to enjoy both each other and their own hobbies. Who needed children to be happy anyway? They just created messes, took up time, and cost a ton of money. Who would want that in a perfect life? A little Adam or Barbara running around the house, proudly showing off any new pieces of pottery, or their hands covered in mud from helping a little bug cross the sidewalk. He’d never have that problem, of seeing a daughter broken by a boy, or a son driven mad by a little lady. And, that had to be for the best, right-

“How was the store, Adam?” Barbara’s words cut off his train of thought, making him blink rapidly. “Adam?” 

“Oh, it was good,” Adam watched as his wife pulled out some clear wrapping to put under her pottery. 

“And?” She questioned, still looking at the plate on the counter, making sure the surface was smooth.

“And?”

“And, why did it take you so long?” Her eyebrows rose and a small smirk grew on her lips as she worked. 

“Oh,” He breathed out, understanding, “Howard thought they were out of the stain, so I asked Howard Jr. to look in the back of the store, so he, as anyone would, sent back Howard the Third to the back,” Adam held up his bag as if it was a prize, “And low and behold, I got the last bottle!” 

Barbara clapped over dramatically as he finished his story, “Such a valiant hero, Sir Adam Maitland, such bravery!” The man himself bowed bashfully.

“All in your name, Lady Barbara, all for you,” He watched as his wife broke out in giggles as she washed her hands. He quickly set the bag on the counter and moved behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist.

“As it should be,” She threw water into Adam’s face, smiling as the man tried to move away, only to still be hit with the droplets. “Don’t you have a crib to work on?” She asked, turning to face him.

“Yes, but I think it can wait,” He tried to wink, only for both of his eyes to shut instead of one, resulting in more giggles from Barbara, who in return placed her arms around his neck.

“I don’t think that you can just tell someone to not have their child,” She joked, staring into Adam’s eyes. 

“True, alas, you are correct once more, My dearest lady,” He pressed one last kiss on Barbara’s lips before letting her go.

“Would you like me to make you a sandwich or something?” Barbara asked, turning back to the counter top.

“I’d love a Maitland sandwich, dear,”

“What?” She spun around, looking at Adam with wide eyes.

“I didn’t say anything, but a sandwich would be nice,” Adam looked up, a small smile on his face. He turned back to the small crib in front of him, “Thanks,”

Barbara shook her head, she swore she heard someone say something, but she just shrugged it off, she hadn’t eaten breakfast, so that probably was it. Her hand reached for the peanut butter in the shelf and her other hand moved to the drawer to find a knife. She quickly found some jelly and began to make two sandwiches. Pb and J, the most white person meal she could think of, but at least it was filling. 

She took a bite of her’s, once it was done and began to take the other plate over to Adam, when she stopped right in front of the stairs. Creak. The floorboards sounded horrible. 

Barbara quickly set her plate on the counter top behind her, “Adam,” She called, pulling him from the crib, “Listen to this,” She set her foot on the floorboards, the ground groaning with the weight. 

“That’s not good,” He rose from where he was sitting, his brows creased with concern. He stood on top of it, pressing his weight on certain areas to try and find the weakest spot. Barbara moved too, trying to help. 

“Adam,” She stepped down on one spot, the ground basically screaming under her light weight, “I think this is where-” Suddenly something snapped.  
“Barbara-” The floor under Adam’s feet began to fall away.

“Crap,” The word was drowned out by screams as the floor broke away under Maitland’s feet, sending them plummeting into the stone basement below. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The basement door swung open, revealing a very bruised Barbara and Adam Maitland. 

“That was intense!” Adam almost laughed, as they reentered the living area of their house. 

“Yeah, yeah,” Barbara stared at her house, the whole area felt different, “It’s so cold in here now,”

“I thought it was going to be it,” Adam ranted on, walking to the hole in the floor. 

“I’m going to-” She stopped, seeing that there was a roaring fire in the fireplace, something that was definitely not there when the couple had fallen. 

“I started asking myself that question, like-” Adam stopped talking as he looked into the basement. 

Barbara moved closer to the fire, not feeling any heat coming from the flames, “Why isn’t it hot?” She asked herself as she still moved her hand closer. 

“-Why are our bodies still in the basement?” 

Barbara screamed loudly as her hand caught fire, out of fear, not pain. Adam rushed over to her, panicking as well. The flame quickly went out.

“Adam, I don’t think,” Barbara paused, trying to calm herself, but failing, “I don’t think that we survived that fall,” Her voice broke as she spoke, her eyes beginning to tear up.

“Hey, hey,” Adam took his wife into his arms, holding her tightly to his chest, “At least we’re here together, right?” He asked, wiping away the first tears that fell from Barbara’s eyes, “Maybe nothing has to change,”

“Hello,” A woman’s voice made both of their heads snap up. The spotted her, sitting in one of their old chairs, petting what seemed to be nothing, “I’ve been expecting you, Mr. Bond,” Both of the Maitlands started screaming in fear, “Oh, shit,” The red haired woman muttered to herself, before rising to greet the couple. “Stop screaming, please, you’re going to wake the dead,” She paused, then laughed at her own joke, “Get it?”

“Excuse me?” Barbara stared at the woman.

“You’re not the type to like Bond references and dark humor, noted,” She cracked a smile, her teeth surprisingly pearly white, “So, you are dead, which I assume you know, right?”

“Yeah?” Adam spoke, his voice weak. 

“Well, sexy, can I call you that?” She asked and quickly waved it off, “Doesn’t matter, what mattered is I’m kinda dead too, so yeah, let me help you!” She waved her hands as if she had just given a presentation. 

“Kinda dead?”

“Demon, bitch, be afraid, be very afraid,” Her tone got dark, which was a big difference as she seemed kind of person, well, demon that was always happy, “I kid, but yeah, I’m your own demon, a guide of sorts,” 

“Demon?”

“Yes! Exactly, sexy, I was born like this,” She moved her head, as if to toss her hair, but her hair was thrown into an overly complicated topknot. 

“What are the guide to?” Barbara questioned, “Are we going to Hell? I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to-”

“Heaven and Hell aren’t real, babe, so no, you’re good,” The Demon told the frantic woman.

“Then, who are you?” Adam asked, still holding his wife.

“I am the wonderful Delia!” 

“And what will you do, Deborah?” 

“Babe, can you not listen, it’s Delia,” The demon rolled her eyes, “And I’m here to teach you how to scare people! Like that one school in that one movie with John Goodman as the big blue cat,” 

“Why do we need to scare people?” Adam questioned, trying to understand what was going on.

“To protect your house, sexy, what else?” 

“From what?” 

“The living, bitch-”

“Please don’t call me that,”

“Too late, babe,” Delia opened her mouth to add something else, but the front door flew open first, a few men and women stepped into the dark living room area. “Pre-test time!” She clapped her hands together.

“What?” Adam questioned, staring at the people that now stood in his house.

“Those people have come to take your bodies, cause no one wants dead bodies in their basement,” Delia spoke, moving closer to the living people now in the Maitland’s house, “I want you to scare them,” A cruel smile grew on the demon’s ruby lips, her hair somehow changing to a lighter shade of orange and yellow. 

“What?” Adam asked again.

“Adam, dear, I need you to say more words than that,” 

“Why should we scare them, they’re just doing their jobs,” 

“Because, I need to see how much help you two are really going to need,” 

“To do what?” Barbara asked.

“Stop fucking asking question and just scare the damn mortals!” Delia practically screamed, her hair now crimson.

The Maitlands slowly walked away, their faces pale, well, paler than they already were, not truly prepared to scare the dieners. They began to try to act scary, key word here is try, as they just looked ridiculous. And the people they were trying to scare, they didn’t react at all. They just grabbed the couple’s bodies and talked about calling someone to fix the floor. They just acted as if the Maitland’s were invisible.

“They can’t see us,” Adam finally said, giving up on scaring the workers. 

“Keen observation, Adam! It’s like you’re paying attention!” Delia rose from the chair she had all but collapsed into when the Maitlands started to try to scare the workers in the house, “You see, the living ignore the dead, we are invisible,” A smirk grew on the demon’s face, “And breathers worry so much about their bullshit lives that most of them never notice the strange and unusual, unless you make them see us,” She ranted, wrapping her arm around Barbara, “Which is why you need me!” She reached for a boob only for Barbara to throw her arm off. 

“So, why don’t you make them see you?” Barbara asked, moving over to Adam. 

“I would love to, really love that, but I can’t,” 

“Why not?” 

“It’s a super long story, involving a French Revolution and an abusive guardian, you know, normal stuff?” Delia waved off the question, before moving to the stairs.

“Normal stuff?”

“Well, you two need a shit ton of practice to be scary, so what do you guys think, are you ready to be taught by the master?” Delia asked, a smile on her lips. 

The couple turned to each other, “We are dead,”

“And we have nothing better to do,” Adam grabbed his wife’s hand.

“Ready?” Barbara asked.

“Set,” 

“Let’s do it!”


	4. The Attic

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! This chapter is a bit shorter than normal, sorry for that. But, I still hope you enjoy! Feel free to comment any prompts you may have, anything you like, or dislike. Thanks A Ton!!!

Charles walked into the house he had just wasted $390,000 on, wincing at the small marks and flaws he noticed. He hated the way the floor changed when it reached the kitchen, going from wood to fake stone. He disliked how the closest bathroom was a hall away from the front door, and that it was the smallest one in the house. He did though, like the way the ceiling slanted, the roof moving at an oddly satisfying angle. Yes, the house would take work, but it’d be better than rotting in his old house, where everything reminded him of all he lost.

Charles kept a sharp eye out, making sure the moving company didn’t break anything or destroy the house. Lord knew the last thing the home needed was more scratches in the wood. He knew somewhere around the mess were his children, but he didn’t have the patience to deal with them. Not now. 

“Hey dad, does this couch make me look dead?” And there was Lydia, of course. She laid on a grey couch as two men carried it in, a bunch of wildflowers in her gasp. 

“You know I can’t answer that, Lydia,” Charles coldly stated, moving over to the girl. “Pep up, a new house, a new start,” The man forced a smile on his face as he spoke, the expression horribly out of place. 

“Are you reading those ‘Single Parent Help’ books again?” Lydia asked, moving to sit up, “Cause that was worse than normal,” 

Laurence entered the room as Lydia spoke, realizing quickly that this wasn’t going to go well. “Lydia, let’s go find your room, maybe we can start making you a dark room!” He sat down on the couch beside her. 

“You two go have fun,” Charles said as he walked away, his hands moving to massage his temples. 

“So, what do you say?” Laurence asked, turning to Lydia. "About the dark room that is,"

“My whole life is one, big, dark room,” She spoke coldly, pushing her pitch black hair over her eyes. 

“And, that is the shit that dad hates,” Laurence poked at his sister, hitting her in the ribs, pulling an unwilling laugh from the dark girl.

“Stop,” She weakly protested, pushing his hand away from her.

“At least take some pictures of the house,” He pointed to the old camera that laid on her chest, “So we can mourn such a lovely house together,” The boy let his eyes wander to the new building, taking in the wallpaper that was covered in flowers and vines, covered in many shades of pink, blue, and green. It was rather pretty, if not aged. The wood around was treated nicely, stained to be a warm brown color, welcoming. Pictures of the last couple that lived in the house we scattered about, in each photo, they looked so happy. So alive.

“It’s sad that he’s going to make this house modern,” Lydia spoke, brushing the hair from her eyes.

“I agree,” The boy nodded, “I mean, it throws some ‘crazy old cat lady’ vibes, but it’s nice,” 

Lydia rose from the couch, taking her camera in her hands and began to take photos. Laurence watched from the couch, smiling as his sister moved her head to see different angles. This is the person he remembered, always ready to take a picture, always ready to prove herself. He supposed in some way, Lydia would use these photos to get back at their father, but right now he didn’t care. 

The siblings quickly made their way through the first level of the house, taking pictures at the random patterns on the walls and the small knick knacks that the previous owners left. It felt weird, like they were trespassing in someone else's life. 

“Race you to the top of the stairs,” Lydia yelled, breaking his train of thought, before she took off, up the stairs.

“Cheater!” He called after her, taking up from behind her. Damn, he was really out of shape, if running up a few stairs caused him to be so out of breath. Thankfully, Lydia seemed just as out of breath as he did. 

“I win,” She breathed out, her hands behind her head. 

“But you cheated, you loser,” He leaned heavily against the wall, his eyes watching the movers that were working on the top floor. “If you want to get the before house, you should probably start on this floor,” 

Lydia shrugged and began to take pictures, making sure to zoom in to the most unusual features. Soft clicks echoed around the room, followed by the offhand chatting from the random mover. 

The siblings went on like that for a while, moving in and out of the rooms. They finally stopped at the last room on the floor. Lydia slowly pushed the door open, relieving what looked like a normal room. On the table laid a pair of glasses, the lenses covered in dust from the lack of use. On the other laid an unfinished crossword puzzle. It just felt odd, being in someone’s room without them knowing. Or, maybe they did know. 

“Do you think they knew they were going to die?” Lydia asked, quietly, moving over to the queen-sized bed. 

“What?” Laurence walked around the room, taking in more of it. 

“The couple that lived here,” She responded, her fingers dancing over the dusty quilt that covered the bed, tracing a strange pattern into it, “Do you think they knew they were going to die?”

The green haired boy sighed, taking in a picture of the previous owners of the house on the nightstand. They were dressed up, their wedding most likely, and they looked so in love. “Probably not,” His throat felt tight, “I think they fell through the floorboards, died on impact,” He turned back to his sister, who was now sitting on the old bed.

“Did they have any children?” She asked, grabbing the glasses off the end table beside her, “Anyone to miss them?” 

“They didn’t have any known kids, but the whole town seemed to like them,” He let his fingers trace the outside of a random jug. 

“That’s sad, they look like they’ve been great parents,” She rose, her whole ass covered in dust from the bed, a bold contrast to her black mourning clothes. Laurence couldn’t help but laugh at the sight, “What?” She questioned, before noticing that amount of dust on her dress, “Shut up,” Lydia groaned, trying to wipe the back off. 

The brother slowly managed to calm down, glad for some humor in the otherwise tense day. He then stopped, realization slowly sinking in, “We are moving into a house where people died…” He paused, “Shit, that’s kinda freaky if you think about it, right?” 

“Yeah,” Lydia raised her camera and took a picture of the room, the clicking sound echoing around the quiet room for a few seconds, “Maybe their souls are trapped in the house or something?” She offhandedly stated, finally done taking pictures of a deceased couple’s bedroom. 

“Attic?” Laurence questioned.

“Where else would a dead white couple hide?” Lydia moved out from the room, quickly making her way back into the hallway, leaving him alone in the room, “Hurry!”

With that, the teenager made his way out, following his sister’s lead. He had to duck under a mirror a few men were carrying through the hallway, but other than that, he quickly made his way over to the attic stairs. At the top stood Lydia, a smirk on her face.

“I win, once again!” She proudly stated as she waited for her brother to join her at the attic door. 

“Show off,” He growled, “Are you going to open the damned door, or what?”

Lydia stuck her tongue out at her green haired brother, her pale hand moving to the knob, moving extra slowly to tease her brother. In a flash, she moved to turn it, only for her hand to move, the knob staying still, “It’s locked,” 

“What?” Laurence brought his hand up to knob, trying to turn it as well.

“Locked, as in, we can’t get in,” Lydia crossed her arms as she watched her brother start to hit the door, “Stop it, stupid, dad will kill you if you break the door,”  
The boy just turned to his sister, “Well, too bad, I want to see the attic of my own house,” He went back to banging on it.

“Let’s just go ask for the key,” 

“There’s a keyhole?” Lydia rolled her eyes as she pointed to the brass knob.

“Yeah, duh,” She began to walk down the stairs again, “If it locks, it probably has a key,” She stopped on the step before the last, “Why do you want to look in there anyway?” She asked.

‘To see if this house has a ghost in it’ His mind shouted.

“Because, having a whole attic for a bedroom would be better than having one downstairs,” He lied, moving down to the second floor landing.

Lydia laughed quietly at his words, “Of course you want a better room, you brat,” 

“Shut up, let’s go ask dad for the key,” Laurence growled, moving to look for Charles in the mess of the moving crew and random boxed, but not before sending one last look up to the attic door. What could be up there?


	5. Ready, Set Reprise

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm soooo sooo sorry this took so long! I hope you enjoy! Feel free to comment anything you want to see or any prompts you might have! Thanks a ton!

“So, you got that?” Delia asked, turning to look at the couple in front of her. The Maitlands just stared at the demon with wide eyes, their eyes blank. Slowly, Barbara raised her hand, “Yes?” Delia asked.

“Uh, yes,” The blond weakly smiled, “Why are we in the attic?” She gestured at the junk that surrounded them.

“Babs, dear, I’ve told you before, time moves differently for the dead,” 

Adam raised his hand, “How differently?”

“Five minutes up here could be a year down there, sexy, who knows,” Delia’s head would have hurt if she could feel petty pain like that, but right now, she was just annoyed with how boring this couple was. “I mean, look outside, people have already moved into your house,”

“Wow,” Was the only response she gained from the couple.

With a growl, the demon moved closer to the Maitlands, “Do you remember anything I just taught you?” They flinched back. “I’ll take that as a no,”

“We’re sorry, but we aren’t scary!” Adam whined, his voice high as he clung to Barbara.

The blonde nodded along with him, “Yeah, we aren’t like you,”

Delia just threw up her arms, tired of the ghost in front of her, “I know that, Barbara!” Her eyes were on fire, “No one is like me!” The demon’s hair grew alarmingly redder on the tips as she spoke/yelled at the recently deceased. 

“Do you wanna-”

  
“No, sexy, I don’t,” Delia snapped her head to look at the ghost beside her, “You know what, just try to be scary,” She waved them on, moving over to an old chair that laid abandoned in the corner, “Go for it,”

Barbara gave her husband a weary look, before turning to the sitting demon, “I don’t know how to be scary,” 

“Okay, well, what’s something that you hate?” 

“Hate, that’s such a strong word,” Adam mumbled from t he side.

“It’s the right word, now go, Babs, what’s it for you?” 

“The Trader Joe’s Parking lot?” The blonde smiled weakly, thinking about how busy the local store was, and how hard it was to find a parking place on certain days. 

“Uh,” The demon brought her hand up to her face, a look of pure annoyance plastered on her face, “No, um, just no. Adam, please,  _ please _ , tell me you have something better,” She basically groaned out.

“I,” Adam bit his lip, “I hate, uh, the electoral colleges,” His eyes got wide, “Why is Ohio so powerful?” 

“Shit,” Delia muttered to herself from the chair, “They’re morons… Lord/Satan, why did you do this to me?” The Maitlands gave each other worried looks as they listened.

“Well, why do you want us to scare the people who bought our house?” Barbara had a soft smile on her face, “I mean, I bet if we asked, they’d leave,” 

“They’re morons,” Delia repeated before she rose and walked over to the very-not-scary couple, “One, you’re invisible, remember?” 

“Oh, yeah-”

  
“Also, scaring them is the only way for them to see you,” 

Adam raised his hand, an annoying both of the Maitlands seemed to have, “Why don’t you scare them for us?” He turned to his wife, “I mean, we both know that you are more than able to do that-”

“Trust me, sexy, nothing, literally nothing, would make me happier than to kill those people downstairs-”

  
“Kill?!” Barbara brought a hand up to her mouth, “We don’t want to kill them!” 

“Fine, okay, if you guys are pussies, we can just scare them,” Delia paused, wrapping her arms around the ghost couple, “But, you have to get them to say my name,”

  
“Why?”

“ _ Because _ , when a person says my name, well, then everyone can see me,” Delia smiled to herself, “Like, after that, I can meet  _ me  _ kind of people. You know, hippies who are only in it for the weed and shiny rocks?” 

“But, we’ve said your name-”

  
“One, you’re dead, doesn’t count,” Delia tensed slightly, “Plus, it has to be my middle name,” 

“What is your middle name?” Adam quietly asked.

“Can’t say it, damn Otho,” She pulled out a card slyly.

Barbara slowly took the slip of paper, her eyebrows creasing together in confusion, “This just says Moulin Rouge, Whore-”

  
“Uh, wrong card,” Delia quickly pulled the card from the ghost, the tips of her red hair turning slightly pink. She began to dig into the pocket of her dress, before pulling out another card, this time Adam taking it. 

“It just says Tigereye, Tigereye, Tigereye?” Adam looked at the demon, “Like the stone?” 

Delia glared at the ghost, “Yes, like the stone.” She stuck her tongue out at him. “Now, instead of talking about this, let’s try a simple trick,” Delia snapped her fingers as she thought of a trick, “Let’s throw your voice, it’s quite easy!”

  
“Easy? Like receronational class, easy?” 

“Sweet…” Delia placed a hand over her mouth, “Learn to throw your voice,” The demon’s voice appeared to be coming from a corner on the far right, “Fool the small amount of friends you may have,” That came from a whole other area, “Fun at parties,” Delia took her hand from her mouth. 

The Maitlands stood in shock before clapping, “I wanna do that! That’s so cool!”Adam’s face was lit up by a smile. “How do you do that?” 

“You know what, that’s too much for you two,” Delia quickly waved them off, “Uh, give me your best primal scream. Go!”

Barbara jumped forward, a smile on her face, as she let out a high pitched squeal like sound. 

Adam, instead of joining in, just stood there, a love struck smile on his face, “That was awesome,” 

“No, try again,” Delia forced a smile onto her lips.

Barbara let out a lower sound, sounding much like a zombie would, “That was even better!” Adam was practically bouncing with joy. 

Delia just shook her head, this was going nowhere. 

“So, how was that?” Barbara happily asked the demon.

“Well, you want my honest opinion?” The blonde nodded, “You’re helpless,” Delia put her hand out above her head, “This is help,” She put her other hand by her hip, “That’s you, see, it’s less,” 

“But, that’s what you are here for, to help us!” Adam quickly stated.

“No, well yes, but it’s impossible,” Delia walked over to the door, “Bye! Nice meeting you!” She reached for the handle.

“Wait!” Barbara yelled, “But, what about getting them to say your name?”

  
“To get them to say my name, you must scare them, and that’s not gonna happen, not with you two,” Delia crossed her arms over her chest, “Honestly, a taxidermy would be scarier than you,” 

“But-”

“But, what, sexy?” Delia threw her hands in the air, “You’ve been no help! You know what, see you fuckers in Hell,” In a flash, she threw down her hands, a small puff of smoke appearing on the ground, “I thought that was going to be bigger,” The demon muttered to herself. “Well,” She put up her middle finger up as she reached blindly for the doorknob, “Fuck you,” She quickly exited the attic, leaving the dead couple in shock.

“Barbara,” Adam turned to his wife, his eyes wide, “That, that demon had problems! I hope somewhere, someone can give her the help she needs!” 

“Yeah,” Barbara nodded, lost in thought.

“Barb?” 

“Yeah?” 

Adam took his wife into his arms, “You okay?” 

The blonde ghost nodded before turning to look at her husband in the eyes, “What if she’s right? I mean, look at this stuff! How are we supposed to live,” She winced at her own choice of words, “Well, stay in a house, we are going to have to scare the people downstairs!”

“Yeah, but how are we going to do that?”   
  


“Adam, we’re ghosts, damnit,” Barbara brought her hand up to her mouth in shock of what she had just said.

“Barbara?” Adam was shocked by his wife’s words.

“Let’s haunt this bitch!” She squealed.

“Okay,” Adam nodded, excited to see what they could do. 

Barbara moved to an old chest hidden by the wall, and wiped a layer of dust from the top of it before opening the top, “We have these sheets,” She pulled out guest sheets they had been given at their wedding, “If we cut holes in them, then the people might see us! And when they notice that we’re real life ghosts! That’s bond to scare them!” 

Adam took one of the white sheets from the blonde’s hand, “That’s genius! We just have to,” He picked up a pair of rusty garden shears from a shelf and cut out small slits for their eyes, “And then it’s perfect,”

Barbara handed him the other sheet, “Ready?”

Adam finished quickly and threw the sheet over his own head, “Set,” 

He watched as Barbara did the same. “Ready, set,” She responded. 

The ghost slowly walked over to the doorway to the stairs, making sure to not trip on the corners for the sheets, “Ready,” They said in unison, as they opened the door, “Set,” Barbara sent Adam a nod before moving down the stairs, beginning to make weird noises, hoping to scare someone, anyone. Honestly, the could just wanted their house back, and this was the only way for that to happen. 


End file.
